Ed sighed and looked toward the door. “Well, you know Otis. He’s like a bear with a sore tail when he’s crossed. I’m thinkin’ he’ll make it harder than ever on them Freeman kids.”
Lanie listened silently to Davis, and when he finished his confession, she put her arms around him. “You did the right thing. It’ll be all right.”
“No it won’t. He’s gonna have me arrested,” Davis whispered. “II’m scared, sis. I don’t want to go to jail.”
“You’re not going to go to jail.”
“Those trees cost a hundred and forty dollars. How will I ever pay it?”
“We won’t worry about that. We’ve been studying in church about faith. Now, if God can make a highway in the Red Sea, He can take care of a few apple trees. Don’t you worry about it.”
“Well, rats! It was my fault!” Cody said. “I was the one who wanted to get that old tire.” He stood up. “I’m going to go tell ’im it was my fault.”
“No,” Davis said, “it wouldn’t do any good. You just keep quiet about it.”
“I wish it had wrecked all of his dumb ol’ trees!” Cody muttered.
“No, you don’t,” Lanie said. “Now we’ll just be quiet. We pray about this, and it will be all right.” She smoothed Davis’s rebellious hair back from his forehead. “Times like these we realize how much we need Jesus, don’t we, Davis?”
Davis nodded numbly. “I wisht I’d never seen that dumb old tire!”
Within two days everyone knew the story of Davis Freeman and the tire and the wrecked apple trees, and most people expected an explosion from Otis Langley.
To everyone’s surprise, nothing seemed to happen. Since Langley was not a man to take things lying down, this puzzled the town. No one dared to ask him about the situation. He kept his own counsel, and finally Orrin Pierce said to Sheriff Jessup, “I guess the old man has decided to let it go.”
Pardue shook his head. “Nope, I’m thinkin’ he’s just waitin’ for something. I don’t know what it is, but that man don’t ever forget a wrong. He’s still sore because Lanie won that grand prize instead of his boy Roger. You can see it when he looks at her. I’m afraid he’s going to get even this time.”
“We can’t let them prosecute that boy. I’d defend him for nothing.”
“I hope it don’t come to that, Orrin, but it might.”
When Lanie opened the door, a stranger greeted her. He wore a dark suit and took off his hat at once. He had light blue eyes and fair hair, and he was obviously from the city. “I’m looking for the Freeman place.”
“I’m Lanie Freeman. Can I help you?”
“My name’s Millard Gamble, Miss Freeman. I work for the State.
I expect I’d better come in and talk to you.”
A touch of fear ran along Lanie’s nerves. “Come on in, Mr. Gamble.”
Lanie led the man into the living room, and when he sat down, she perched herself on the edge of the chair, tension in her eyes.
“I work for the Department of Child Welfare, Miss Freeman.”
Reaching down, he opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers.
He looked at them briefly. “I understand your mother is not living.”
“No, sir, she’s not.”
“And your father. He’s incarcerated—in prison, that is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how old are you, Miss Freeman?”
“Sixteen.”
“No adults in the house?”
“No. Not now.”
Mr. Gamble tightened his lips and ran his eyes along the paper. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“Bad news? Is it about my father?”
“No, it’s about you and your brothers and sisters. You see, we’ve had a complaint, and I’ve been ordered to make an investigation.”
“Investigation of what?”
“Of your situation here. My department sees to it that children are taken care of, and I must tell you that your situation is not acceptable.”
Fear fluttered in Lanie’s breast, and she felt light-headed. “What do you mean? What have we done wrong?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just that you have five children living alone without an adult or any means of support.” Gamble looked through some papers and said, “Do you have any relatives that might come and live with you?”
“No, sir, we don’t have anybody like that.”
“Well, I’m afraid my recommendation is going to seem a little harsh to you. But we can’t have infants and very young children living on their own. There has to be adult supervision.”
“What . . . what’s going to happen?”
“I think it’s likely that the five of you will be placed in foster homes.”
Lanie jumped to her feet, and her eyes were wide open. “No, you can’t do that! You can’t separate us like that, you can’t!”
Mr. Gamble got to his feet and put the papers back in his briefcase. “I knew this would be hard for you. I’ll finish my report and turn it in to my office. A committee will examine it and make the decision, but you should prepare yourself and your siblings to be moved to a foster home. I’m sorry to give you this bad news, Miss Freeman. You’ll be seeing me later.”
The man left the house, and Lanie stared after him. She seemed unable to move. Once she had been struck in the stomach while playing a game at school. It had knocked the wind out of her, and she was unable to breathe for a brief period. This was like that in a way. Finally she sat down abruptly in the chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, don’t let this happen! Please don’t let this happen to us!”
C H A P T E R 23
Effie Johnson entered the law office of Orrin Pierce and said without preamble, “Orrin, I’m worried about this business with the Freeman children. How serious do you think it is?”
“I just made a call to the capital, Effie,” Orrin said, and his tone was shaded with doubt. He came to stand beside her. “From what I can pick up, they mean business.”
“You know where it all started, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” Orrin snorted with disgust. “Langley’s behind the whole thing. You have to understand, Effie, that those people at the capital don’t know anything about the human side of these problems. All they’ve got is a piece of paper, and that piece of paper says that there are five children, one of them a mere toddler, living alone in a house without any means of support—and whose father is in prison. You have to admit that sounds pretty bad.”
Anger flared in Effie’s eyes. “Well, I see the human side of it, and so do you!” She caught the smell of liquor on Orrin’s breath and gave him a sharp look. “It’s too early in the mornin’ for you to be drinkin’, Orrin. As a matter of fact, you don’t need to be drinkin’ at all.”
Pierce looked down at the small woman, who returned his gaze with such severity that he had to drop his head. “It’s just the way I am, Effie. Nobody knows it better than I do.”
“You can’t stop drinking by yourself, Orrin. You need help.”
“I think I’m about past that.”
“Past it!” Effie sniffed. “Fiddlesticks! You’re not past God’s help.” She liked this tall man. He had strength, good looks, and intelligence. He could go anywhere, but booze tied him down. Her tone softened and she put her hand on his arm. “The good Lord doesn’t see anyone as being past help.” She waited for him to reply, and when he didn’t, she withdrew her hand. “All right, we’ll have to do something.”
“I think it’s God who will have to do something. You know how the State is, Effie.” Effie’s words stung, but he knew she had a good heart. “I’ll talk to some people. We’ll see.” When she turned to leave the room, he added, “Don’t give up on me, Effie.”
Turning to face him, Effie said, “I wouldn’t do that, Orrin. You’re too good a man to be wasted.”
The Wednesday-night prayer meeting at First Baptist Church of Fairhope was usually a rather regimente
d affair. The small crowd began to filter in a few minutes before seven. At the urging of the pastor, William Prince, they took the front seats so that he could speak to them more easily. They came bundled up, and most of them kept their coats on. To save money, the church wasn’t heated during the week.
Prince met Deoin and Agnes Jinks as they entered, shaking hands with both of them and smiling. “Well, you two are always faithful on Wednesday night. I appreciate your coming.”
“You know what they say.” Deoin winked. His face was pale from the cold, but he was always a cheerful man. “Those that love the Lord come on Sunday morning, and those that love the church come on Sunday night—and those that love the preacher come on Wednesday night.”
Prince smiled. He had heard Jinks say this regularly for the past two years. “You may be right about that. It looks like we’re going to have a small crowd tonight.” He remained at the door until seven, then walked to the front of the church. Cora Johnson was seated at the piano, and he smiled at her. “I hope your fingers aren’t too cold to play.”
“No, it’s not bad, Brother Prince.” Cora smiled at him, and he thought again what an attractive woman she would be if only she would take some care of herself. Why, she looks like a Pentecostal lady—no makeup, no jewelry, hair tied back. “Well, it looks like I’ll have to lead the singing, as Brother Barnes isn’t here tonight. What about ‘Love Lifted Me’? That’s a peppy one.”
“That’s fine, Brother Prince.” Cora knew all the hymns in the Broadman hymnal by heart. She was an excellent musician and began to play with vigor.
Prince abandoned the platform and stood directly in front of the twenty or so people present. “Let’s all stand and sing this song as if we really mean it.” He led the hymn, and the singing was rather ragged. After two more hymns, Prince prayed, then said, “All right, you can be seated.” Prince took his Bible from where it lay on the front pew and opened it. “Tonight we’re going to continue our study in the book of Colossians.”
For the next ten minutes the pastor taught his small flock. He was an excellent teacher, well read and still young enough to be hopeful that God would move greatly in this small church in this small Arkansas community. So far his stay in Fairhope had been effective, but hardly dramatic. At times he had to encourage himself in the Lord to believe that his work here was worth all the effort it had taken him to get through Bible school and Fort Worth Baptist Seminary.
He spoke for half an hour. “And so we see that these Christians in the Colossian church faced the same problems that we face today, and there’s never—”
The sound of voices came to the sanctuary, and the preacher stopped abruptly. Everyone turned to look, and Sister Myrtle and her husband, Charlie, came bursting through the door, followed by a small crowd.
“That’s Sister Myrtle,” Davis whispered to Lanie, “and it looks like she brought her whole church with her.”
Sister Myrtle and Charlie came marching up the aisle followed by about twenty-five other people.
“Well, Brother Prince, we’ve come to your prayer meeting.” Sister Myrtle’s voice seemed to rattle the windows, and she nodded with obvious satisfaction. “I brought my folks along. We’ve come to help you folks pray for the Freeman family.”
“Why, that’s very gracious of you, Sister Myrtle,” Prince said, amused by the invasion. He had long ago given up being shocked at anything Sister Myrtle Poindexter did or said. She was loud, impulsive, and possessed the confidence of an iron bar, and she had one of the best hearts Prince had ever known. Noting that his congregation was stunned, he said, “We were just closing our study, so I think it’s about time to start praying.”
“Well, praise God! Hallelujah! Glory to the Lamb!” Sister Myrtle bellowed. “Let’s get started then.” She rubbed her hands together. “Nothin’ I like better than a good fight with the devil—that red-legged rascal! We’re gonna put the run on him tonight, Brother!”
“Amen and amen! Glory to God and the Lamb forever!”
The deep bass voice seemed to come from the back of the church, as if from heaven, and everyone turned and craned their necks and looked up to the balcony. Lanie’s eyes opened wide, and she whispered to Davis, “Look. That’s Madison Jones and his church members.”
The balcony was filling at a rapid rate. The massive figure of the iceman/preacher Madison Jones stood at the rail looking down, his black face shining. Behind him, Bascom and the rest of Madison’s children filed in, along with Faye and Sally Dupont, the black couple who owned the laundry, and a crowd of other folks.
“Sister Myrtle done come by and told me to pray at our prayer meeting,” Reverend Jones boomed. “And I allowed as how we’d come over here and join with you. We wants to add our petition to the prayers going up to God for these chil’uns.”
“It’s so good to have you folks,” Brother Prince called out, smiling. A thrill had gone through him, for nothing like this had ever happened in Fairhope before. He had a deep and intense desire to tell the black congregation to come down and join with the others, but this was Arkansas, 1930. Such things might happen in the future, but they had not come to that place yet.
“I don’t know how you Baptist folks pray,” Sister Myrtle said, “but we Pentecostal folks believe in lettin’ God know we mean business.”
“I believe you do, sister,” Brother Prince said, “and I think right now we’ll just begin. I’m a little bit tired of plans and programs.” The words came unbidden, and Prince was surprised at himself. “Tonight we’re just going to seek God, and we’re going to find Him.”
The amens and the hallelujahs rolled down from the balcony and rose up from Sister Myrtle, seeming to meet somewhere in the air. A few of the bolder Baptists joined in rather feebly, and Brother Prince could see that some of his deacons were apprehensive. “I think the first thing we need to do is to get you and your brothers and sisters up here, Lanie.”
“Amen! We’ll lay hands on ’em and let the Almighty know that we’re serious!” Sister Myrtle boomed.
Lanie was shocked, but at the same time her heart was warmed. The arrival of Madison, whom she had known all her life, and of Sister Myrtle, whom she truly admired, cheered her. “Come on,” she said, urging Davis, Maeva, and Cody to follow her to the platform.
“Bring that young’un out of the nursery!” Sister Myrtle said. “She’s gonna be prayed for too.” She waited until Lena Pranger brought baby Corliss out and gave her to Lanie. Sister Myrtle put her hands lightly on Lanie’s head. Her grip tightened when she began to pray. Lanie noticed that others had put their hands on her siblings, and she was pleased to see Ellen Prince touching Corliss. She also saw that her former teacher Miss Dunsmore stood nearby. Her eyes caught Lanie’s. “God bless you, Lanie. God’s here tonight.”
And so the praying began, and the First Baptist Church of Fairhope, Arkansas, had seldom, if ever, heard such praise and prayer. Lanie bowed her head and felt Sister Myrtle’s hands holding her. She felt a sense of security, and she squeezed Corliss until the little girl protested with a squeal.
Finally the noise died down, and Sister Myrtle said, “All right. I reckon as how that’ll get us started. Now, everybody find a place. It don’t make no difference where it is. Go up on the roof if you want to, walk the aisles, get under a bench. But get somewhere and grab hold of God’s coattails, and don’t let Him go until He says what you want to hear!”
Nothing quite like this Wednesday prayer meeting had ever happened at this First Baptist Church! As a rule, the Wednesday prayer sessions lasted no longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.
But on the evening of November 19, nine o’clock came and passed, then ten, and the prayers went on. At ten fifteen, Morley Daman, a Baptist deacon who had the reputation of being a mossy-backed, fussy old man, decided to put a stop to it. “Now folks, this has been fine, but I’ll now pronounce the benediction.”
Sister Myrtle laughed. “You benedict all you want to, my dear brother, then you go on home. But I’m
wrestling the devil here, and I’m not lettin’ that varmint go until he’s flat on his back!”
The deacon stared at her openmouthed. Then, to the amazement of his pastor, Morley Daman went to the front pew, fell on his knees, and began praying loudly.
Elspeth Patton, the publisher of the Sentinel, had just finished breakfast when she got a call about some unusual goings-on down at the Baptist church and decided to investigate. When she arrived, the parking lot was full, with more cars still arriving. She went into the church, then stopped dead still. She was a Presbyterian and by nature a reserved woman, but there was nothing reserved about what was going on in the First Baptist Church of Fairhope! Some people were sitting in the pews, leaning forward with their heads pressed against the back of the next pew. As she entered cautiously, she glanced back over her shoulder to see that the balcony was packed with black people, and she heard the deep bass voice of Madison Jones rumbling as he spoke to God.
All through the auditorium there was movement. Some were walking the aisles praying, many lifting their hands, and Elspeth, who knew everybody in Fairhope, saw that the Pentecostals had invaded Baptist territory! She took a seat and for the next twenty minutes simply sat there. She was joined by Cassandra Pruitt, the librarian. “Have you been here long, Cassandra?”
“I came in about two hours ago. I’m so worried about the Freeman children.” She looked around, her eyes wide, and said, “I don’t know what to make of all this, Miss Patton.”
“Well, it’s not a typical Baptist meeting—or Presbyterian either.”
“Do you think it’s a good thing?”
Elspeth Patton loved the order of the Presbyterian service and was often appalled by what she considered the excesses of other groups—particularly Pentecostals—but today she saw people with tears running down their faces, and up on the rostrum the chairman of the Baptist deacons was stretched flat on his face before God. She whispered, “I think it’s a very good thing, Cassandra, indeed I do!”
THE HOMEPLACE Page 23
